


Four Aces

by mm8



Category: Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 14:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case brings Sherlock and John to Cardiff, where John is surprised to run in to Owen who he'd been at medical school with. He's even more surprised to find out about aliens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Aces

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the 2012 Post Christmas Blues Fest at [Torchwood_Fest](http://torchwood-fest.livejournal.com/). Many thanks to my two betas [miranda_askher](http://miranda-askher.livejournal.com/profile) and [jaune_chat](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/profile). 
> 
> References to the Torchwood novel 'The Twilight Streets' by Gary Russell. Set pre 'The Great Game' for Sherlock BBC. Set pre 'Reset' for Torchwood. Mind the years difference (2010 vs 2008) and you are okay.

"According to Gwen and Ianto's _lengthy_ report on the illegal Adipose breeding site in _Sp-lo-t_ \--"

" _Sp-lo._ Ianto enunciated correctly. 

Jack rolled his eyes and continued with his daily update. "Owen and Tosh, how are you two coming along with those murders in Tiger Bay?"

Owen rolled his eyes while Tosh bit her lip and gripped her jeans tightly, her knuckles going white. 

"Well, you see Jack," Toshiko started. "I've been working on that nasty virus our computer system caught. I haven't seen anything like it before. I've been devoting all of my time to fighting it."

The Captain turned his gaze to Owen for his explanation.

The doctor lifted up his hands and shrugged. "Yeah, I've just been stalking people on Facebook and looking at porn, mate."

Jack raked his hand through his brown hair and scowled. "Just, go. Murders. Tiger Bay. Tosh," he lifted a finger as she opened her mouth to protest. "The computers are _fine_. They've been working perfectly. Owen, just get off your lazy ass and get some work done before I do something I regret."

"Jack, that's the problem. The virus makes everything seem normal—"

"Come on," Owen grasped Toshiko's arm and began to pull her out of the conference room. "You know when we're not wanted."

"Was anyone else hoping that the reason that they were too busy to go to Tiger Bay was that Owen had finally confessed his feelings to Tosh and they were busy shagging each other senseless?" Jack asked after the pair left.

Gwen and Ianto simultaneously raised their hands and nodded.

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

"Of course it'd be raining." John groaned and pulled his collar up against the wind and the rain.

Sherlock smiled at him as he attempted to shield his lover against the rain with his umbrella, one borrowed, well _stolen_ , from his brother Mycroft. "It is Cardiff. It rains an average of 146 days a year."

"What do you want to do after this, then?" The ex-army doctor asked.

"Hm? What do you mean; we're here to solve a case." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

John waved a hand. "No, no, no. I mean _afterwards_. We're here for a holiday, technically. A two-month long holiday, I might add, on your brother's expense." 

"That was stupid of him," the consulting detective commented.

John eyed Sherlock. "What do you want to do when this case is over?"

The lanky man shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Update my website. Comment on your blog. Hope to God that someone else gets murdered to occupy my time."

John bit his lip, scoffed and shook his head. "You know how to have a vacation, don't you?"

"Oh, you want to do something tourists would do?" Sherlock racked his mind and recalled that John had been flipping through a large book in their hotel room that had many things to do during a typical stay in Cardiff. John had pointed out a few things to him… "Fine then, we could go to the Roald Dahl Plass and visit the Wales Millennium Centre. Maybe catch a show?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." John glanced around and noticed the short, hunched over, Asian man who had helped them before. "Look, he's coming over."

The Detective Inspector's name was Trieu. "Sorry gents, but word's come from higher ups that you'll have to clear off."

John opened and closed his mouth rather like a fish while Sherlock growled and rushed toward the Detective Inspector, towering over him. "What do you mean, _clear off_? I was hired to consult on this case because the police are at their wit's end. I get here, haven't even seen a body yet and you tell me to _clear off_? I demand answers. _Now_."

D.I. Trieu shivered under Sherlock's hard glare. "It's not my decision, sir. This is Torchwood business now."

Sherlock's dark eyebrows shot up. "Torchwood? What on Earth is that? It sounds like an erectile dysfunction medication."

Trieu held back a snort of laughter behind his gloved hand. "I wish." He turned around at the sound of a roaring car engine. "Ah, there they are now. You better get going. Even I have to leave the scene myself."

John held a possessive hand on the small of Sherlock's back as they retreated the taped off crime scene to some nearby stores were some of the officers had wandered off to as else. Silently, they walked into a small café and took a seat by the window. 

"Ever heard of this Torchwood, then? Something Mycroft would be into?" John offered to break the silence.

"No. Never. This has me perplexed, John. I don't enjoy this emotion."

They watched as a large black SUV rolled into view. The car stopped a few feet away from where Sherlock and John had previously been standing. Now that the car was still, they could clearly see the word 'Torchwood' engraved on the side of the vehicle. Two people, a man and a woman, jumped out of the SUV. The man was pale, perhaps sick or didn't spend enough time in the sun. Even though it was still daytime his eyes were clearly bloodshot as though he hadn't had a good night's rest. He walked in the shadows as if he didn't want to be seen. The woman was Asian, had long dark hair that was tied in a sloppy side ponytail that was hastily done. She walked with her head held high and back straight. Sherlock noted however, that instead of looking in front of where she was about to walk her eyes were locked on her colleague. 

"No," John breathed in disbelief. "No, no. You're kidding me." He shot up and spirited out of the café back to the scene of the crime.

"John! John, wait!" Sherlock called after him. He managed to grab his lover's forearm and turned him around. "What—"

"I have us a way in, Sherlock," John spoke quickly, his words running together. "I _know_ that man. I can get us back on the case. Trust me."

Sherlock scanned John's eyes for any dishonesty knowing full well he'd find none. He nodded, dumbly and raced on beside John.

"Owen! Owen!" John shouted as they got closer to the man and woman.

The man looked up at them and squinted through the rain. His face seemed to have changed with recognition. "John? John Watson?"

The ex-army doctor breathed heavily when he reached his old friend. "Owen! Surprise running into you here! I haven't seen you since graduation!

"Yeah, nice to see you again mate." Owen grasped John's left hand and shook it hard. "I thought you were in Afghanistan or something?"

John shrugged. "I got shot." He gestured to his right shoulder. "Been back in London ever since. What about you? I thought you were getting married to Katie?" He eyed Owen's left ring finger.

"Um, Owen." The woman seemed nervous, glancing between the alley where the taped off area was and Owen every few seconds; however, her glances at Owen seemed to linger. Sherlock made a note of this. "Shouldn't we—"

There was a tremendous roar from the alley way. In an instant, all four of them rushed forward, weapons drawn. 

"What are you doing?" the woman screamed. She looked menacing wielding her large gun. Sherlock briefly wondered where she had been concealing it. "Stay back!"

"We can help—" John retorted before he stopped dead in his tracks. "What the hell is that?!"

Ahead of them was the corpse that they had all been brought in to see. But it had been shredded, split down the middle and left discarded in the middle of the side street. The smell was completely overpowering and Sherlock his blue scarf over his nose and mouth. 

But that wasn't the most shocking sight. Over the body was a gigantic, insect-like monster. It was black, dripping in blood and green goo. The monster had large claws that were starting to make swipes at the group, antenna on top of its head, and feelers near its mouth, both twitching wildly. 

"I was afraid of this." Owen growled. "John, do as I say," he ordered. "Shoot for the feelers! That's its weak spot!"

Sherlock watched as John unloaded his gun on the creature without hesitation, none of his shots wasted (he wasn't called Crackshot for nothing). Along with the woman and Owen's help the monster shortly went down. 

John stayed at his position but the woman and Owen rushed toward the beast, running various gadgets over the body.

Sherlock grinned. "So. Torchwood. You catch aliens, then."

Everyone turned and stared at him. John's friend and his companion seemed angered. "What?!"

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

It took all four of them to load the corpse into the SUV. It was a silent ride in the Torchwood vehicle at first. Owen and the woman, Toshiko Sato kept exchanging glances in the front and sometimes looking back towards them. John squeezed Sherlock's cold hand in reassurance. The glances the two of them exchanged were mutual. On the outside their masks were trying to convey 'we'll be okay'. On the inside they both knew that they were fucked.

But when they arrived at the Roald Plass, they drove into an underground garage. Even in the dim lighting, Sherlock could see a young man in a sharp suit that seemed to be waiting for them. Owen stopped the SUV just a few meters from the man.

"Jack wants to meet them." The man had a thick Welsh accent.

"Fuck Jack!" Owen growled back.

"He just wanted to say hello. Have a cup of coffee. I bet they haven't tasted coffee as good as mine." The man had a cheeky smile. There was a double meaning to his words and it bothered Sherlock.

"No, Ianto. He's my friend. I'm going to handle this my way. You and Tosh get the parasite out of the SUV and into the Medi Bay. And when you see Jack, tell him from me that he can piss off!"

Owen slammed his car door, and the very moment the alien was lifted out of the SUV and Owen hit his foot on the gas and sped off back into the city of Cardiff.

The three were silent once again. Sherlock could see Owen's shoulders tense up and relax every few seconds. Whatever was going on in the brain of his, Sherlock wanted to find out soon.

"What's your mate's name, John?" Owen called over his shoulder.

How curious. "I can verbalize for myself," Sherlock spoke up. "I understand that you'd like John to answer because you are more familiar with him. But do not assume that I am mute, deaf, dumb, or—"

"Sherlock," John interrupted. "His name is Sherlock Holmes."

The detective shot a glare at the soldier, crossed his arms and slumped against the window.

"Are you two--- you know? Ahhh," Owen was trying to be delicate. "Are you two—?"

"We're flat mates as well as lovers if that's what you are attempting to ask," Sherlock answered rather testily. "Not that that is any of your business."

Owen cracked a smile. "Is he always a git, John?"

"This is him being polite, mate," John chuckled back.

Sherlock decided it was time to cut to the chase and end all of this childish nonsense. "Look, are you going to kill us or not?"

The Torchwood doctor stomped on the brake a little harder than necessary at the red light. "Jesus, no! Fuck! Christ! What the hell!? Why would you think that!?"

"Well, we _did_ just stumble onto your secret organization…" John mumbled. 

The detective scoffed. " _Secret_? That's kind."

"No," Owen looked back at them, his eyes pleading. "I'm serious. I'm not going to kill you. That's not how Torchwood operates. I'm just taking us all out to a nice meal to catch up. While we're there, I am going to explain everything."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

John was stroking Sherlock's unruly hair as they watched the telly. The programme wasn't important. Neither of them were paying any sort of attention to it. They were lying entwined on their hotel bed thinking independently about the conversation they had with Owen.

Aliens were real. They were always among us. It was as normal as football and tea. Torchwood, the organization Owen worked for, was placed along some sort of Rift in space and time. Aliens seemed to be drawn to it like flies to vinegar. They'd capture the aliens, study their technology, and use it for the betterment of mankind. Apparently, a popular Cardiff resident was called a Weevil and mostly lived in the sewers, and no one but Torchwood knew anything about their existence.

Even for Sherlock, who guessed what Toshiko and Owen were doing right away, this was still a lot to take in. The extent of it all was mind-numbing. He couldn't imagine how John was taking all of this.

"You want to go out for supper? I'm starving. Only ate my soup and salad at lunch and that was hours ago. And mind you the portions were rubbish."

Sherlock caressed his lover's arm and kissed his wounded shoulder. "Whatever you'd like."

"Ohh," John moaned and rubbed his forehead. 

The detective shot straight up. "John? John, what's wrong?"

"I don't know… My head…" John closed his eyes. "I'm so tired…"

He felt John's forehead to see if was feverish. No. Checked John's pulse to see if it was normal. Yes. This was strange. John had never acted like this before. What could he do?

"Do you want me to take you to Owen? He is a doctor—"

"Owen?" John looked up at Sherlock with confusion. "Owen Harper? How would you know Owen? I've never mentioned him to you before, I don't think. I haven't seen him since medical school…" John gave a large yawn. "Weren't we at Tiger Bay, Sherlock? How'd we--?" His head lolled onto his shoulder. That quickly he was asleep.

"John!" Sherlock cried out. He gently slapped John's cheek but no response. He opened John's eyes and checked his pulse again. His lover was perfectly fine, just asleep. Then why the sudden onset of amnesia? 

His face was grim. Silently he removed John's clothing and tucked him into the bed, kissed his lips. 

Sherlock vowed to return when he found the answers.

Before he left their hotel room, he made sure to take John's gun with him.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 

Owen threw off his coat, not caring where it landed, as soon as he entered the Hub. 

"Is it done?"

The doctor looked up. Jack was standing tall, arms crossed, on the stairs leading to his office. His face was stern and expecting.

"You already know the answer." He kept walking, taking a seat at the couch and grabbing a cold slice of pizza from out of the box on the coffee table. 

Jack jogged down the staircase and made his way to Owen's spot. "I'm proud of you. You did the right thing." He could tell this wasn't having an effect. "I've had to retcon my friends dozens of times. It hurts. But you'll get past it."

Owen rolled his eyes, "Didn't the tea boy pass on my message to you?"

Before Jack could make a comeback, Ianto came running up from the tunnels. "Sorry to break up a tender moment, gents, but looks like we've got company."

They rushed toward Toshiko's station, since she had left CCTV up on her screen. After a few taps on the keyboard, Ianto showed the Captain and the doctor what trouble he had been speaking of. There was a dark-haired thin man, his scarf and coat swirling in the breeze, standing near the fountain, looking straight at the CCTV camera. 

"He's been standing there like that for ten minutes," the Welshman said exasperated. He eyed Owen. "What do you want to do?"

Jack glanced back and forth between Owen and the CCTV. "You know this guy?"

The doctor ran a hand through his hair. "He's John's _boyfriend_."

"Didn't you—?" Jack's temper was rising.

"Yes, Jack. Fuck. I fucking retconned them _both_. And it was over and hour ago, the Retcon should have taken effect by now."

Jack and Ianto exchanged knowing glances. "Idris," they said together.

The doctor looked between them. "Uh, what am I missing?"

The Captain gave him a scrutinizing gaze. "Remember when Bilis Manger sponsored those street parties for that reconstruction project and turned you into a clown zombie?" 

Owen's expression was blank.

"How the hell can you _not_ remember that?"

"I _might_ have gone a binger that night…" He whistled. "Maybe. I dunno. I don't remember any of that."

Jack slapped his palm to his forehead. "Goddammit, Owen! Okay, forget the logistics! Idris Hopper—"

Owen snapped his fingers, "Didn't he used to be the mayor's aide or secretary?" 

Ianto was gobsmacked. "You remember _that_?!"

Jack spread his arms wide. "Fuck it, just fuck it! Quick version! Before Idris helped us with that case that you can't remember Owen, I retconned him but the Retcon had no effect. Because 1 in every 80,000 people has some sort of biologically immunity to Retcon."

"Wait," Owen held up a finger. "But we haven't heard from him since. Plus he's not the working at the mayor's office anymore. I thought I heard he had moved out the country."

"Yes," Jack said puffing up his chest. "Because I gave him _two_ pills." He held up two fingers, "Two pills will do the trick. I figure since this guy," he gestured to the CCTV screen, "has already taken one pill in the last couple of hours, then just give him one more and we'll be square." Jack pulled out a Retcon pill from his trouser pocket and placed it in Owen's palm.

"You're keeping these things on your person now?" The doctor asked as he began to gather up his things to leave.

"Well I never know when someone is going to fuck up!" Jack yelled after him.

Owen's only response was to flip the bird as the Hub door rolled closed.

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

The night was dark as Owen stepped out onto the Plass. It was late and the Millennium Centre was closed, so luckily no one else was around. When Owen made his presence known, his footsteps heavier than normal, Sherlock whirled around at the sound, facing him. 

"I'm armed." Sherlock announced in his low baritone. He unbuttoned his heavy coat; the wind blew it open and the detective pulled a small handgun from the inside of his jacket pocket, pointing the gun toward Owen. 

"So am I." Owen took out his Torchwood issued gun from the waistband of his jeans, but held his hands in the air. "We don't have to do this, Sherlock. Neither of us needs to get hurt."

"And what of John, Owen?" Sherlock's voice rose. "Hasn't be already been hurt? Why can't he remember you? Or Torchwood? What did you do? What did you give him?" Sherlock's gun was aiming straight for Owen's heart, his gun steady.

"Calm down, mate. Let's just calm down." Owen slowly put his own gun down in front of him on the pavement, and then kicked it away. "See? Unarmed. Please do the same, Sherlock. Let's talk as men."

Owen held his breath, waiting for Sherlock's next move. The doctor was putting his life in the hands of his man who he met only today. He watched as Sherlock eyed him up and down…

Sherlock put the gun down and lightly tapped it away so it was only a foot or so away. "It's John's. I don't want it to get any scuff marks from the pavement." He said as explanation.

Owen nodded, understanding. He took a step forward, only to sigh as Sherlock retreated a step back. "Back at the restaurant, I had both of your salads laced with a sort of amnesia pill that we call Retcon. The chef at that restaurant owes me a favour or two so he let it by."

"You _poisoned_ us?"

" _No_ , not _poisoned_." Owen could barely convince himself of that. "It's standard protocol for anyone who discovers anything about Torchwood."

"Then why did you bother to tell us?!" Sherlock shouted back.

"Because…" Owen exhaled, "because we aren't allowed to tell anyone about all this. And it makes you go mad after a while. So letting all of the shit out, it can be nice."

"Then you make them forget so you can be guilt-free? So your 'secret' organization will remain anonymous? Stupid homosapiens." Sherlock was twirling around, pacing. "Wait, then how come I'm here?" _Owen could almost see the man's mind ticking and trying to process the information._ "I have some sort of immunity to this Retcon, yes?"

Owen snapped his fingers, "Got it in one, detective. Apparently a small portion of the population is immune to the regular dose."

Sherlock immediately stopped moving. "Naturally, you've been given your orders. Are you going to kill me now, Owen?"

"No! Fuck! What is with you and John and thinking people are going to murder you?"

"We solve crime for a living," Sherlock's face was dull. "Do you think our lives haven't been threatened a few times?"

"I was told to retcon you again." Owen pulled out a white pill from his pocket and showed it to the detective. "But, I'm not going to do that." He put the pill back in his pocket. "I have a plan, Sherlock. But you'll have to do everything I say and trust me."

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

"I'm _bored_ , John." Sherlock moaned as the entered the crowded restaurant. They gave the hostess their names and took a seat by the door. "For the last month and half we've done nothing but explore the wonders of Cardiff. We went to that Norwegian Church were that children's author was christened. I lowered my standards and watched rugby and football games with you. I am still unsure as to what exactly happened. In both sports both teams are too possessive over a ball, I would suggest counseling." He put his pale hand on John's. "We've been to the Millennium Centre to every week to see a different show. I've been cultured for the next decade of my existence, which is what I intend to tell Mycroft the next time he invites me out to see a play." 

"That all sounds jam-packed to me. You haven't even reached the tip of the iceberg yet." John's muscle near his left eye was twitching slightly.

"I haven't seen a proper corpse since we left London. The police here are not as cooperative as I thought they'd be."

"I'm sure Lestrade will have fun things for you like torture, a crazy genius killer, maybe an explosion or two?" John paused to take in Sherlock's blissful state. "But in _two weeks_ when we go back to London. Until then we're _normal_ tourists in Wales."

"John? John Watson?"

The duo looked up at the voice. A pale man in casual dress with a wide smile and arms outstretched stood just a few feet from them. "John, it is you! How are you doing, mate?" 

John stood up as the man advanced. "Owen? God, I haven't seen you since we graduated from medical school." 

"It's been too long, John. Too long." Owen said as they embraced.

"Do you want to have lunch with us?" John offered. "Only we're on the waiting list."

"Oh, don't worry about that." Owen waved it off. "I already have a table; you can sit with me. Plus I get all my meals here at a discounted price because I know the chef."

"Wow," John seemed surprised. "Well, can I just go the loo before we sit then?"

Owen took a seat beside Sherlock as John made his way to the bathroom. 

"How's work?" Sherlock asked.

"Fine, no one suspects a thing. We figured out that the parasite behind the all the Tiger Bay killings had recently come through the Rift. Its species needs to eat almost constantly. So he would kill his prey, and in his race's custom wear their skin. When the nutrients from that host died out, he shed the skin and went on to find another body."

Sherlock nodded. "Did you partner, Toshiko, ever figure out how to solve that nasty computer virus?"

Owen raised an eyebrow. "How did—"

"Did she?" Sherlock's smile was cheeky.

"Don't tell me it was you!" He pointed a finger at Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock's grin grew wider but he said nothing.

"Yes, she solved it. Our systems are virus-free. But how did you infiltrate our system?"

Sherlock let out a low chuckle. "Oh, that reminds me." He pulled out a small slip of paper folded in half and passed it to Owen. "My email address. And John's. So we can keep in touch."

Owen smiled as he pocketed the paper, and pulled out a similar slip from his jacket pocket. "We think alike apparently." He frowned and his voice lowered. "Just know, if the emails suddenly stop, then I've been retconned or I'm deceased. Torchwood is the last job you'll ever have after all."

"Same here." Sherlock replied. "Our jobs are risky. Owen?"

"What?" Owen leaned back in his chair, his fingertips touching the side of his temple.

"Tell her how you feel before it's too late." Sherlock's face remained blank, devoid of any emotion.

Before Owen could say anything, John returned from the loo. The ex-soldier smiled and grasped Sherlock's hand. "Owen, this is my boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is my old mate from medical school, Owen Harper. But I see you two are already getting along."

Sherlock and Owen exchanged looks. "It's almost like déjà vu, mate," Owen concurred. "Come on, let's get some food."

**Author's Note:**

> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).
>   
> 


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